 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
VIII.
And certes, Harold, not of failure spokeThe sounds that then from out th' Encampment broke!
Sounds of carousal and of boisterous mirth,
That have in young and happy hearts their birth.
We reached the trench. The posted guards, amazed,
On me, as on a spirit, wildly gazed;
But when my well-known battle-word I cried,
Their joyous recognition-shout replied.
That shout to us the nearest warriors drew:
They came, they saw; they saw me, and they knew;
And quickly thus, conveyed from man to man,
Throughout the crowded camp the tidings ran—
Exciting still, as on they passed within,
A wilder tumult, and a louder din!
O'er the rude planks that served them for a bridge,
And o'er the inner rampart's earthen ridge,
Some led our steeds to stall; my friends some bore;
While others cleared the crowded way before.
I, raised upon a shield, with shout and song,
To Guthrum's tent was proudly borne along!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |